Of Caresses and Constellations
by Ellory
Summary: Pure-blood Culture: Lady Hadara Potter doesn't know why her head constantly hurts, or why she's terrified by others. She only knows that Heir Draco Malfoy makes her feel utterly safe.


**Title:** Of Caresses and Constellations

 **Pairing:** Draco Malfoy/Hadara Potter and Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Malfoy

* * *

Hadara Potter winced as her headache worsened with each word Malfoy spewed. His voice grated on her auditory nerves, and she was considering punching him in the face just so he would shut up. Then again, he might burst into high-pitched shrieks if she did, and that would be torture. Hadara wasn't the least bit masochistic, so her fist stayed balled at her side, where it belonged.

Why, exactly, had McGonagall decided that she and Malfoy should be partners on a huge Transfiguration project? Her Head of House must've had too much catnip or something, because there was no chance that she and Malfoy had complementary magic. Malfoy hadn't stopped ranting the entire trip down to the dungeons for Potions, his complaints becoming more vociferous with each step.

"You're just going to waste my time and—"

"Malfoy," she snapped, raising one hand to press against her left temple, "if I wanted to waste your time I'd ask you to brush my hair. It grew two feet on my seventeenth birthday and won't let me cut it. It takes me hours to brush it each night." She growled and closed her eyes, hoping the ridiculousness of her comment would silence him.

Malfoy did shut up, finally, but all of their classmates gasped loudly and then began murmuring. She didn't try to catch what they were saying, because it would probably only make her headache worse.

"You would let me brush your hair?" There was a quality, or tone, perhaps, to Malfoy's voice that she had never heard before.

She peeked out from beneath one eyelid as she leaned against the dungeon wall; his face was neutral. She couldn't remember him ever staring at her with such utter neutrality. "No." A flash of what appeared to be hurt flitted through his gray eyes, before vanishing. A sneer curled his lips, and she decided to head him off before he could dive back into the ludicrous series of insults that always seemed to rest on the tip of his tongue. "You would no doubt pull it. My head already hurts enough, thank you very much."

The sneer died a quick death as blankness smothered his face like an invisible mural. "Let me make sure I heard you correctly, Potter," he said very carefully, as if he were attempting to weave through a maze of erratic Bludgers on a Comet 360. "Your only objection to having your hair brushed by me is that you think I would pull it."

Hadara rolled her head to the side and pressed her cheek against the cold stone wall; it helped a little, but not much. "Yeah, I suppose so." She shrugged, wondering why he seemed so intent on her silly comment. It's not like Malfoy would actually want to brush her hair or anything. He hated her.

Her classmates were silent, even Ron and Hermione, much to her amazement. That was why it was so easy to hear the sound of Malfoy's footsteps as he walked closer to her. It seemed foolish to think that she could identify someone just by the sound of shoes striking stone, but she would recognize his anywhere. He had followed her for years, as she had followed him, and Draco Malfoy's footsteps rang with uncertain authority—as if he desperately knew what he wanted and was worthy of, but didn't think he would ever achieve it. Perhaps being the son and heir of Lucius Malfoy was a burden he wouldn't grow into for a long time to come.

She tilted her head when something sounded off, and was forced to open her eyes to confirm her suspicions. It was, indeed, Malfoy approaching her. But his footsteps were different now. They suddenly sang of complete confidence, with an edge of what she might be tempted to call victory.

But why?

Hadara glanced up at him from under her eyelashes as he halted before her. She missed the days when they were the same height; now he had at least six inches on her, and she was ever having to look up at him.

"And if I said I wouldn't pull your hair?" asked Malfoy.

Really? He was still going on about her blasted hair? It was almost a scream in her head. She flinched and began massaging her temple, but it didn't help much. If this kept up, she would need to visit Pomfrey for a headache reliever potion. "And why should I believe you?" she asked, deciding to play along. He would get bored of this newest game soon enough.

Malfoy was almost unnervingly intent as he stared at her. "If I gave my word not to pull it, would you let me brush it?"

Hadara realized, much to her disbelief, that she would. For all of Malfoy's faults and character defects, she knew he would never break his word once given; it was, after all, a matter of pureblood honor. She imagined death came to anyone who should question a Malfoy's honor. "Would you want to?" she whispered.

A heated glance that made his gray eyes molten pewter appeared and vanished so rapidly that she must have imagined it. "Yes," he purred.

Blinking, Hadara cast a cooling charm on her left hand and then placed it against her forehead. That actually helped a bit. The throbbing lessened. She breathed a sigh of relief and then returned her attention to Malfoy. He was just . . . standing patiently before her, as if awaiting some grand announcement. It made no sense. Malfoy wasn't patient, ever. His silence, along with everyone else's, made it seem like this was a _big deal_. But Hadara couldn't understand why that would be.

Tired of whatever this new game was, Hadara decided to call his bluff and end it. "Fine then. If you give your word not to pull it, or tug it, or cut it (although I wouldn't mind that too much), or intentionally knot it up, or change the color of it, or in any other wise jinx, hex, or curse my hair, you may brush it."

A loud choking sound came from her right, and Hadara glanced over to see that Ron's face was as red as his hair. He was staring at her as if she had just declared a passionate desire to seduce Snape. Hermione, to his right, was gaping at Hadara as if she had just let loose Fiendfyre in the Library of Alexandria. To Ron's left, Neville looked like someone had just dissected Trevor in front of him.

Malfoy leaned down, intruding upon her personal space to an alarming degree, and whispered against her ear, lips brushing her emerald earring, "I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, swear on my honor that I will never intentionally damage or alter Lady Hadara Potter's hair. I also swear that I will never intentionally pull it, or cause her pain through use of it in any manner."

 _Lady_ Hadara Potter? What was he playing at now?

Hadara shivered as his magic brushed against her, sealing the vow in place. The feel of his magic against her caused the pain in her head to fade several degrees, so that it was nothing more than a nuisance. McGonagall couldn't have possibly been right, could she? Did they really have complementary magic?

A massive wooden door slammed back against the stone wall, causing several of the students to jump as Snape made his entrance. He had one supercilious eyebrow cocked as he sneered out at the lot of them. However, he paused and then blinked furiously when his gaze landed on her and Malfoy.

"Mr. Malfoy, what is the meaning of this?" A barely visible fury in his obsidian eyes frightened Hadara. Snape's rage was usually cold, like the snake he was; she couldn't imagine how vicious it would be if his temper ran hot.

Malfoy turned his head, so that his cheek was resting against hers. If Snape hadn't been staring so creepily at them, she would have shoved Malfoy away. But his presence was somehow calming in the face of Snape's disdain. Malfoy's arms were on either side of her body as he leaned against the wall, shielding her from the majority of their observers. She was . . . grateful for the protection, minor though it may be, and annoyed at that feeling of gratitude. She was a Gryffindor, and she could take care of herself!

"I'm afraid you'll have to excuse Lady Hadara and I from Potions today, Professor. We have something to take care of," Malfoy said. She felt his cheek caress hers as he smirked smugly at their audience.

Snape's eyes narrowed to slits. "What?"

"We'll make up the assignment tomorrow afternoon during our free time. Until then." Malfoy nodded regally and slid his arm around her waist. She allowed him to guide her back down the corridor, her mind a haze of shock, confusion, and disbelief.

What was going on?

If Malfoy hadn't held her so firmly against his side, she surely would have stumbled and fallen flat on her face. She was so lost inside her head, trying to unravel the conversation that had led up to Malfoy acting like an actual _gentleman_ , that she paid no attention to where they were going until she saw the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He released her only long enough to pace three times, and then encircled her waist again when a carved cherry wood door appeared in the previously blank wall.

Hadara gasped at the sight that met her eyes. The room was so rich, so elegant, with dainty medieval furniture—clearly meant for a woman of high station, like a princess or queen. "Where are we?" she asked. When she had been little and dreamed of being saved from her horrible relatives by a prince, he always took her away to a castle, gave her a pretty room like this, and then married her and made her his princess. This room was her childhood fantasy made into reality.

"It's a replica of the dressing room in the Heiress Malfoy suite," Malfoy replied as he led her to a chair with a round seat and a foot-high back; the constellation Draco was carved into the back, and the legs were unicorns rampant.

The Heiress Malfoy suite? "You have a little sister?"

Malfoy smiled with genuine amusement. "No."

Before she could ask him to clarify, a flicker of movement caught her attention. Hadara twisted around to see that she was sitting before a grand mirror with a crystal frame. It was aged, silver veins tracing across the outermost foot in a meandering pattern. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at their reflections; Malfoy was standing behind her, a delighted grin on his face as he stared down at her. It eerily mirrored a painting she had seen of her Grandfather Charlus and Grandmother Dorea, and not just because people said she was a near replica of the infamous Dorea Black, who had had wizards fighting for her hand since she turned thirteen. If Hadara didn't have her mother's emerald eyes, people would have likely speculated (more than they already did) that she was her grandmother reincarnated.

The fine blonde hair on her head—identical to Dorea's, and Narcissa Malfoy's, now that she thought of it—complemented Malfoy's, or perhaps his complemented hers. As she stared into the mirror, she was struck by a thought and spoke aloud without realizing it. "I wonder if there's a painting of your parents in Malfoy Manor that looks just like this."

Malfoy nodded, and then winked at her. "There is, indeed. A very similar one will be joining it soon."

Hadara tilted her head as she pondered that. Why would Malfoy tell her that his parents were having another portrait of themselves painted? Why would she care? What relevance did it have? He never said anything without a reason, even when insulting her. Every word that came out of his mouth was calculated.

Before she could even think of a response, his hands slid over her shoulders, up her neck, and into her hair. His fingers shook as he tenderly and diligently removed pin after pin from her hair and placed them on the nearby dressing table. With each pin removed, his hands trembled a little more. The turn of his lip and emotions in his eyes were indescribable; she didn't understand them. Whatever solemn mask, or emotionless mask, or mask of hatred that he normally wore around her was gone. She had no point of reference for his visage now, and that unsettled her.

Why had he looked hurt when she first said he couldn't brush her hair? Why had he been willing to swear a vow just to do so? Why had Neville been so sad? Ron so horrified? Hermione so flummoxed? Why had everyone made it seem like such a _big deal_? Hadara suddenly remembered the tears in Pansy Parkinson's eyes as Malfoy led her back down the hallway and away from the classroom. Parkinson was hard as nails. There was no way that she would cry over Malfoy brushing Hadara's hair, was there?

"Malfoy—"

"Draco," he corrected instantly, fingers pausing in their quest to find the next pin that kept her hair in an elegant series of twists on her head. It was the only nice thing Aunt Petunia had ever done for her—teaching her to style her hair.

Hadara blinked in disbelief. Had she fallen into an alternate universe or something? "Seriously?"

"I'm deadly serious. Call me Draco," he said. If she had been more fanciful than the average girl, she would have imagined it held a hint of compulsion. But even if it did, it wouldn't have mattered, would it? After all, Hadara Potter was immune to the Imperius Curse. What power could the request of one wizard possibly have?

"Draco"—he shivered behind her—"why did Parkinson look like she was going to cry? You're just going to brush my hair. Wouldn't you brush hers if she asked?"

"No!" he spat. And then he paled, worse than the night they had stumbled across Voldemort drinking the blood of a unicorn when they were only eleven years old. Only, he didn't turn around and flee this time; he stood his ground. Malfoy's fingers curled around the large, curved pin in the middle of her hair—the only one left—but he didn't withdraw it. "You asked me to brush your hair, and you don't know what it means?" There was a thick quality to his words, as if he were speaking from underwater, or through a knot of tears.

He looked . . . devastated.

The air felt heavy in the room, and it took a great deal of willpower to sit still. She wasn't sure that she should ask, but she had to know what had put that look on his face, when nothing else ever had—not even Lucius's brief stint in Azkaban after the battle in the Department of Mysteries. "Draco, what does it mean?"

His eyes, which resembled the palest of hoarfrost, tore away from her own in the mirror and locked on his hand, which still held the final pin. Indecision warred on his face and, for a moment, she thought he would rip the pin out. Instead, he hung his head and whispered, "Only a lady's family, fiancé, or lord may see her hair down and brush it."

Hadara inhaled so quickly that her lungs burned. His words echoed repeatedly through her head, stunning her into silence. That meant—that meant— _that meant_ — She had accidentally proposed to Malfoy, and _he had accepted_. Malfoy had thought she was asking him to marry her, and she had been joking to get him to shut up. How thoughtlessly cruel!

The hurt when she had first said 'no' made sense. And she was now sure that the heat in his eyes hadn't been imagined in the least. That similar portrait he was talking about was to be of him and her! And the Heiress Malfoy suite . . . if he was Heir Malfoy, would that make this his future bride's dressing room?

"But you hate me," she whispered, sounding like a small child.

"No!" His head snapped up so fast she feared he might've hurt himself. "I don't hate you. Hadara, I could never hate you. Can't you feel it?" The familiar magical buzz of being around Malfoy was there, as always. McGonagall's earlier words were starting to make sense on too many levels. If their magic was truly complementary, then—hadn't Lavender and Parvati been muttering about complementary magic and true love and soul mates or some such rubbish in fourth year?

His visage twisted in a mask of loathing. "I hate Weasley! He's always there at your side, smirking at me, taunting me with the fact that despite everything . . . despite our magic . . . despite my feelings . . ." He ducked his head so that she couldn't see his face. "You chose him."

It felt like her reality had been tipped upside-down and shaken vigorously as the past seven years replayed exceedingly quickly from Malfoy's perspective. It made sense now: Ron's countless glares at the Slytherin table for no apparent reason, and all those times he put his hand on her shoulder or swung an arm around her waist when Malfoy was in sight, or the fact that he still hadn't asked Hermione out, even though Hermione's feelings for him were obvious enough that even he couldn't miss them.

Hadara wrinkled her nose. "He's like an annoying and overeager little brother I need to protect. You couldn't pay me to go out with Ron."

His hand curled in her hair around the pin, nails tenderly scraping her scalp. "Do you mean that?"

She nodded carefully. "I do. Kissing him would be gross. My grandmother and godfather might have been Blacks, but the whole incest thing creeps me out, even if we aren't technically brother and sister; it would still feel like it."

"My mother's a Black!" he declared, as if seeking to defend her honor.

"I know. But she had the good taste to marry your father, not her cousins," Hadara countered absently. Those three words 'despite my feelings' kept clamoring for attention, shunting her other thoughts off into a barren wasteland. She wanted to ask for clarification, but that was pretty pointless now, wasn't it? He had accepted her unwitting proposal in front of their classmates, had blown off Snape, and had brought her to a replica of his future wife's chambers. The constellation he was named after was engraved into the back of the chair she was currently sitting on.

What could that be, if not love?

Malfoy wasn't the type of wizard who would display insipid pettiness and instigate a vendetta that lasted over half a decade just because he sort of, maybe, a little bit, fancied her.

"That's true," he replied, chin rising so that their eyes met in the mirror.

For a second there, she forgot her previous statement and thought he had read her mind and agreed with her. So the question was: how did she feel about all this? About him?

Her thoughts returned to the previous summer, which had been the worst yet. She had constantly wished for Malfoy's presence, so—she had thought at the time—she would have someone to fight with, someone to make her feel alive, someone who would be more than willing to put her horrible relatives in their place. But now . . . now she couldn't help but wonder if she had missed the feel of his magic against her own—how tenderly it caressed her, and how safe she felt when she was within its reach.

Hadara lifted one hand and set it atop Malfoy's in her hair. The moment she touched him, he flinched, as if he just knew she was going to pull his hand away from her blonde tresses and reinsert the pins one after the other while he watched. She folded her hand around his, both of them trembling at the touch. And then, watching his eyes in the mirror, slowly pulled his hand free of her hair—with the final pin still in his grasp.

Stunned awe overwhelmed his features as her hair tumbled down, unraveling until it pooled on the floor like a moonlit waterfall. "Wow . . ." Malfoy kept staring at it, then the pin, then her hair, then the pin, as if he couldn't comprehend what she had just done. "It's stunning, Hadara. Absolutely stunning. You're beautiful."

Hadara blushed as he dropped the pin on the floor and then mindlessly started playing with her hair. His fingers danced through the silken tresses, stroking and caressing. He buried his face in it and inhaled deeply, then laughed loudly like a carefree child.

His smile was beatific. He was almost unbearably happy.

It was nigh impossible for her to believe that she could make such a difference in his demeanor.

When he settled down to reverently petting it, she turned her head and beamed up at him. "I believe, my lord, that you promised to brush my hair."

Malfoy mouthed the words 'my lord' over and over as he stared at her, as if she had spoken a foreign language he had never heard before. Then the heat was back in his eyes, accompanied by a healthy dose of possessiveness. He bent down until his face was only an inch from hers, his breath ghosting across her lips. "As you wish, my lady."

Hadara leaned forward and closed her eyes, and relished in the sensation of his velvety lips against hers. Truly, this was the perfect first kiss: gentle and unrushed. When she ended the kiss, she knew her face was pink with heat. She grabbed one of his hands, her whole body trembling as she tried to force the necessary words past the tangle of emotions in her throat. Her voice wobbled when she finally whispered, "You swore you wouldn't hurt me."

The tightening of his grip let Hadara know that Malfoy knew she was talking about a lot more than just brushing her hair.

She had never heard words sound more true than the ones Draco Malfoy spoke to her then, in the mimicry of her future chambers. "I would die first."

Hadara carefully gathered her hair off the floor, until all of it lay in a haphazard puddle across her palms. "Then I give myself into your hands, Draco," she said solemnly as she passed her hair to him, a symbolic gesture of her true intent.

"They will offer only protection and pleasure," he promised as he accepted it. After kissing her hair and rubbing his cheek against it, he casually summoned what looked like a loom from across the room. After skillfully draping her hair over it, Malfoy picked up the bejeweled hairbrush that was resting on the dressing table. She couldn't help but sigh and close her eyes in delight when he began brushing her hair, easing it through the tresses without trouble.

She suspected the protection in his hands had long since been hers in one manner or another. Now, though, she would wallow in the pleasure they could provide.

"There was never another," she confessed. The hairbrush paused. "Ron aside, for obvious reasons, there was no one else. Just you." She wanted him to know that she hadn't been free with her lips, as many witches were. The love on her parents' faces in the photo album Hagrid had given her had long since convinced her that kisses were for lasting love only—not passing fancies, boredom, or experimentation.

There was a gritty quality to his voice as he said, "Thank you." When the hairbrush began moving again, he whispered, "All mine."

Hadara laughed and then rolled her eyes. He was going to be a possessive little prat; she could already tell. He sounded almost insufferably pleased with himself. But as she viewed his joyful face in the mirror, she couldn't find it in herself to destroy his pleasure. She was his, after all.

So, for today only, Hadara would tolerate his conceited gloating. Tomorrow, she would remind him exactly who had had the courage to propose and end his suffering.

* * *

Hadara Potter blushed and shifted her weight from one leg to the other and then back again. She clutched the invisibility cloak more tightly around herself. The last thing she wanted to do was be caught standing outside the door to the Head Boy's dorm. But, well, Draco Malfoy—her fiancé—was in there. And, as pathetic as it might seem . . . she couldn't sleep without him.

They had only been engaged for two months now, and in that time she had gotten so used to the feeling of his magic wrapping around her that it scared her when it was gone. It had been tolerable the first month or so, but as time passed, it distressed her more and more. Until, two months into their engagement, she couldn't stand it anymore. The moment that Draco fell asleep each night, the magic shield he constantly encased her in failed—due to the distance separating them. Her dorm in the top of Gryffindor tower was too far from his Head Boy dorm down in the dungeons for his subconscious mind to control the shielding.

She had taken to going to bed early in the evening, so that she would be able to sleep as long as possible before he fell asleep. Because the moment sleep claimed her fiancé, Hadara would wake with a start, wand in hand, positive that she was under attack. The swift death of feeling safe grated on her nerves, and tonight had been the final straw.

Hadara shuddered as she remembered the shriek Lavender had emitted when she had inadvertently fired a curse at her as she awoke. She didn't ever want that to happen again. It was humiliating, as well as terrifying.

Sneaking out of the dorm after everyone was asleep was simple; she had more than enough practice doing that over the years. However, she wasn't sure if she had the courage, despite being a Gryffindor, to follow through on her plan. She shifted her weight again, and then sighed and shook her head. If she didn't get some quality sleep soon, then she wouldn't be able to function at all. She was stunned that Draco hadn't called her out on the glamour charms yet. But she didn't think he would hold his tongue much longer; each day he grew increasingly protective and glared at the skin under her eyes, as if he could see right through the charms.

The door handle was a sculpture of a serpent—no surprise there given the part of the castle she was in. All it would take was one word, and then she would be safe and able to sleep. " _Open_ ," she hissed. The doorknob twisted, the door opened, and she stepped inside before shutting it behind her.

A door in the far wall opened just moments later. Draco crossed the threshold with narrowed eyes, his wand brandished threateningly. "Only a fool would think it wise to slip through my wards," he snarled, eyes darting around the room.

"Do you want me to leave?" Hadara whispered. She was starting to rethink her whole adventure. Intruding on her fiancé's personal space, using Parseltongue to get past the wards . . . what had she been thinking? _That sleep would be nice. That I want to feel safe_.

Draco twitched, and then dropped his wand arm to his side. "Hadara?" he asked carefully, gaze scanning the room.

"Do you want me to leave?" she repeated. Seriously, what had she been thinking? Draco was busy being Head Boy, and he had so many family responsibilities, among other things. She should have left him alone to get the sleep he surely needed.

"No!" he said. "No, of course not." He glanced around the room again. "Where are you?"

"Oh, sorry." Hadara released her grip on the invisibility cloak and shrugged, sending it tumbling to the floor. Draco gasped and stared at her. It was only then that she realized she had rushed down to the dungeons in her nightgown. She had on a pair of thin white slippers, which matched her fitted chemise nightgown, and her hair was only loosely braided, stopping at the back of her knees. When he didn't say anything, she blushed and took a step toward him. "Draco?"

His attention returned to her face with alacrity. "Y-yes?" he stuttered, before swallowing.

Words failed her for a second, but she marshaled them together. She hadn't come all this way for nothing. Hadara folded her arms around her waist and inquired, "Can I sleep here?" She spun to face the dying fire before adding, "With you?"

"I-I . . ."

Draco wasn't one to stammer. The inconsistency made her turn back around. Indecision warred on his face, causing her chest to hurt. Oh, so it was like that. Foolishly, she had hoped for a resounding 'yes'. It didn't seem like that would be the case. He seemed to be fighting for the words to politely deny her request without hurting her feelings.

"You don't want me here," she whispered, hands fisting. "I-I see. I'm sorry for bothering you, Draco. I'll just leave and we can pretend—"

"No!" he yelled, wand clattering to the floor as he leapt forward and grabbed her arm gently before she could leave. "That's not it, love. Of course I want you here," he breathed. "Why . . . ?"

When he put his hand under her chin and nudged her face up so that she had to meet his gaze, she felt tears well in her eyes. She felt so weak, and she hated it. She was a Gryffindor, the girl-who-lived, the Conqueror, and she felt more fragile than that crystal vase of Aunt Petunia's she had broken when she was eight years old. It had shattered into so many pieces that she still occasionally found one when she swept or vacuumed to this day.

"I'm scared," she admitted. Her confession was so soft that she wasn't sure if he had heard it.

Draco pulled her against his chest and wordlessly Summoned his wand back to his hand, before sliding it into the holster on his forearm. "Why?" His voice was harsh and vicious.

She felt his magic reach out and encase her from head to toe; it was thicker than normal, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she collapsed against his chest. "When you fall asleep, the shields fall," she said. "And I feel open and raw to the world. I . . ." She sounded so weak and pathetic. "I never feel safe without them. And if any of the guys are around . . ." Hadara shuddered as she remembered how terrified she felt when she was sitting in the common room earlier this week well before dawn and Seamus Finnegan wandered down the stairs.

Draco's magic flared so brightly that the embers in the fireplace turned into a conflagration—heat soaring into the chilly room. "What?" he choked out.

"I'm sorry." She squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm being ridiculous. I shouldn't have bothered you. I'll just go—"

"Absolutely not," Draco said, voice darker than she had ever heard it in her life. "You can stay." The words had layers to them, as if he couldn't believe he was saying them. "Of course you can stay, love. Come on." He kissed her forehead, tangled his fingers with hers, and then led her into his bedroom. As he passed over the threshold, he placed his hand on a sconce; golden light started at the ceiling and spilled down the walls, before coating the floor. Wards of some kind, no doubt.

His bedroom was large and elegant. She didn't expect any less from him; he was endearingly snobbish about things like that. 'Malfoys deserve nothing less than the best.' It seemed to be the unofficial Malfoy family motto. He led her over to the bed; the bedcovers were already thrown back, likely from his quick exit when she had set off the wards.

"In you go," Draco said, voice husky.

"Thank you for letting me stay, Draco," Hadara said as she got in his bed. A blush colored her cheeks; she had never been in a man's bed before. If it had been anyone else, the prospect would have frightened her. But this was Draco's bed, and he would never harm her. He had promised, after all.

"You're welcome, love," Draco said, before leaning down to kiss her forehead.

When he turned around and started walking toward a sofa that was positioned before a crackling fireplace, Hadara's brow furrowed. Why would he be going . . . ? Oh! Like a true gentleman, Draco intended to sleep on the sofa and let her have his bed. But what if the distance was still too great? What if he fell asleep and she woke up, knew she was in his presence, but couldn't feel the magic shields? That would be even worse.

"D-Draco?" Her voice trembled. Was she really going to ask him this? If word about this got out . . . but for once, she didn't care what rumors were spread about her. Knowing the truth was enough for her.

He halted, back facing her. "Yes, love?"

She needed him—here, with her. "You know I trust you, right?"

Draco's shoulders hunched, as if she had struck him a great blow. "Yes, love."

"Then will you . . ." She stretched a hand out toward him, even though he wasn't looking. "The bed's big enough for both of us," she whispered. Her face flamed, but she wouldn't withdraw her statement. If he acceded to her request, she knew it would be hard for him. But she wasn't kidding when she said that she trusted him. He had proven himself to her so many times over the past two months. She could trust him with this too.

Draco turned around, and his eyes were molten mercury. They ignited with passion. "Love, you don't know what you're asking of me," he said, hands twitching at his sides.

"I do, my lord," she said. His eyes brightened further at the address as he stalked back to the bed and clasped her outstretched hand between his. "I'm sorry to make such a difficult request, but I . . ." She acknowledged her weakness. "I need you."

"Hadara, I—" Draco reached forward and caressed her cheek, before sliding his hand into her hair. He stroked the silken blonde strands, indecision once again warring on his face.

"Please, Draco. _Please_ ," Hadara begged, tears gathering in her eyes again. She was so tired. More than anything else in the world, she wanted to sleep right now. And being safe in her fiancé's arms was the only way she knew to make that happen for any length of time.

His features settled, determination etching his jaw. "As my lady commands."

"Thank you, my lord," she replied. Hadara kissed his hands, which were just now releasing hers, and slid over in the bed. She held up the covers for him; it felt like an eon before he joined her on the bed. But he kept his word to her and settled beside her, painfully still. Sighing, Hadara rolled over and fit herself against his side. He trembled, and she kissed his neck in gratitude. "Thank you."

Draco tentatively wrapped an arm around her, hugging her closer to his chest. He nuzzled her hair and inhaled. "Hadara," he whispered, voice thick with awe, as if he were enjoying the best dream ever.

Sleep was quickly overcoming her now that she felt safe. She propped her chin on his chest and smiled up at him. "I love you, Draco."

Draco bent down just enough to claim her lips. The kiss didn't last long, but she melted into it. "I love you, too."

Thoughts finally relaxed enough to flit to the following day, Hadara whispered, "Draco, what if your parents don't like me?"

"Oh, love, you don't need to worry about that," he assured her. He caressed her back soothingly, fingers skimming over her nightgown. "Don't even entertain the thought."

"You promise?" Hadara inquired, even as sleep started to take over. She wanted his parents to like her; she wanted to be part of a family. And she had been partially responsible for the two or so months Lucius spent in Azkaban before he was released. Those truly loyal to the Dark Lord had died when he did. Those who had actually been Imperiused were set free.

"I promise," Draco said.

That was more than good enough for her. Hadara snuggled closer to him and slept.

* * *

The alarm was loud and obnoxious. Hadara grumbled and groped under her pillow for her wand, but it wasn't there. When her questing hand met nothing, her eyes jerked open. Where was her wand? She registered its presence in her forearm holster, which she usually removed to sleep, at the same time the annoying noise silenced. It was also then that she realized the heavy weight around her waist had shifted.

Hadara blinked several times, but the person was still beneath her. What in the world? She glanced up and met Draco's gaze; his eyes were half-lidded and smoky with passion. "Morning," she squeaked, as the events of the previous evening played out in her mind. Before she bothered to consider the consequences of her actions, Hadara leaned down and kissed Draco. Her hands burrowed into his hair.

Moments later she was on her back as Draco leaned over her and licked his way into her mouth. He had never kissed her like this before. It was glorious. He tasted like power and safety. She hooked her arms around his neck and pressed closer, only for him to pull back and swing his legs off the bed, shoulders hunched and head in his hands.

"Draco?" Was that her voice? It didn't sound anything like her; it was husky, deep, and breathy.

He leapt off the bed and toward a door she hadn't noticed the night before. "I need to take a shower," he said before hurrying inside and shutting it behind him.

"He smelled fine to me," Hadara said as she sat up in bed. There was a large mirror along the far wall, and her reflection startled her. Her hair was wild and free, her lips were red and plump, and her chest was heaving. She looked debauched. "Oh." She folded her knees up to her chest and rested her head on them. "I'm sorry, Draco. I'm so sorry." He had proven that she could trust him, but she hadn't made it easy on him.

Hadara got out of bed, wincing as the cold floor made her toes curl. Where had she lost her slippers last night? She glanced around the bedchamber, but she didn't see them anywhere. "Dobby!" she called.

The house-elf appeared in the room without a sound. He gazed at her, eyes seeming wider than normal. "Missus Potter, what's you doing being in Master Draco's bedroom?"

She wasn't in the mood to explain herself. Her weaknesses were personal; it had been hard enough to share them with Draco. She wasn't going to willingly share them with anyone else. "It doesn't matter," she said. She looked down at Dobby and ignored that he was wringing his ears. "Can you bring the dress robes I bought for today, and put my other things on the train, please?" she queried. Today was the start of the Yule break, and she was spending it at Malfoy Manor with her future family.

"But Missus Potter, this is being Master Draco's _bedroom_ ," Dobby stressed.

"I know, Dobby," she ground out, wishing he would drop the subject. "Will you help me or not?"

"Yes, Dobby will being helping," he replied. He snapped his fingers and the dress robes—that she had specially ordered for formally meeting his family—appeared on the bed. Another snap of his fingers resulted in a door materializing behind her. "Yous not being using Master Draco's bathroom," Dobby insisted, face appalled.

Hadara rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Dobby." She picked up her robes—and the accessories he had brought her, as well—and walked into the bathroom he had linked to Draco's chambers. After shutting the door, she sighed and started preparing for the day. It was a hair-washing day, which meant that her shower lasted significantly longer than it would on a normal day. Feeling self-conscious at the thought of meeting Lady Narcissa Malfoy—who was stunning—her future mother-in-law, Hadara used all of the grooming charms she could remember. Her body hair washed down the drain, her nails were neat and manicured, and her teeth were sparkling white. She dried her hair while twisting it around her wand, so that it sprang into tight curls. It only shortened the mass to several inches below her hips.

The Malfoy family colors were silver and green—like Slytherin's. It was a good thing that she looked pretty in both. The dress robes were the color of her eyes; they hugged her form from the base of her neck to the bottom of her hips, before flaring out around her. They had cap sleeves that were barely there, and came with elbow-length, silver lace gloves and matching slippers. The constellation Draco was embroidered around the skirt of the robes.

She picked up the last piece of the ensemble, a silver lace veil. She had no idea how to attach it. Draco would, though, right?

Hadara perused her reflection, shocked at how resplendent she appeared. She hadn't consulted Draco before ordering them, and he hadn't mentioned anything about formal robes. But she figured that had more to do with him worrying about pressuring her. She had done the research herself, determined to make a good impression on his parents. The last thing she wanted was for them to think she was a ruffian.

"I hope he likes it," she muttered before opening the door and stepping back into his bedroom.

Draco was standing before the fireplace, his back to her. He turned when she entered the room. He wore silver trousers beneath a tunic that matched her dress. They gaped at the sight of each other. "Hadara, you look . . ." He strode forward and twined his finger around one of her ringlets. "It's down." His voice was both loving and deeply disapproving.

"I know. I need your help," she said, before proffering the veil.

He pecked her on the cheek before pointing to a chair that matched his writing desk. "Have a seat, love." After she sat down, he started twirling each curl closer to her head, and then whispered a spell. It held in place, and he started on the next. And the next. And the next.

Curious, she reached up to touch one of the ones he had secured. Her fingers met a small metal ball. "Hair beads?" she asked.

"Yes, love," he replied absently, attention still focused on his task. He finished a few minutes later and stepped back with a smile on his face. "Lovely." He gently tugged the veil from her fingers and then secured it with the same spell. It stopped halfway down her nose, the lace soft and smooth against her skin. "Almost perfect," he said. Before she could ask what was missing, Draco opened a drawer of his desk and removed a large, velvet box.

She accepted it with shaking fingers. "Draco?"

"Open it," he commanded, before kissing her neck.

Hadara obeyed, mouth falling open at the sight of the enormous gray diamond. It was suspended on a delicate looking silver chain. "Draco?"

"I know the traditional Potter gift is a hair comb, and I promise I'll get you one, but the traditional Malfoy gift is a pendant. I wanted you to have it before you officially met Mother and Father," Draco said. He took it from her hands and clasped it around her neck. Then he kissed her neck again.

"I don't need a hair comb," Hadara said as she touched the pendant. "I'm a Malfoy, not a Potter."

Draco's fingers spasmed and clamped down on her shoulders as he sucked in a sharp breath. "Mother will kill me. Mother will kill me. Mother will kill me," he whispered repeatedly.

"Draco?" Why was he saying that? She turned around to see that his eyes sparked with desire more than they had this morning. Apparently, he _really_ liked it when she said she belonged to him, intentionally or not.

"We need to leave. Now," he gritted out.

Hadara cursed herself for hurting him like this and nodded. "Okay. We can go." She stood up, loathing the moment his hands fell from her shoulders. However, he twined his fingers with hers just seconds later. She relaxed and headed out of the room; he followed her. Soon enough they were out in the corridors, walking up to the entrance hall. They had missed breakfast, but she wasn't particularly hungry. She was slightly nauseous at the thought of meeting Narcissa Malfoy. What if Narcissa didn't think Hadara was good enough for her only son?

As childish as it might sound, considering she was seventeen years old, and an adult in the eyes of wizarding law, she wanted a loving mother. She had always dreamed of having a mother—ever since she had been a young child. When she had learned that her own mother was dead, she had thought she would never truly have one. And then she realized, at thirteen, that when she got married she would have a mother. It wouldn't exactly be her mother . . . per se, but she would still have one. Narcissa Malfoy née Black was famed for her beauty, poise, power, and grace. Was Hadara beautiful enough to be her daughter? Was she graceful enough? The only thing Hadara didn't worry about was if she were powerful enough; she had that one covered in spades.

Before she knew what was happening, she was sitting next to Draco in the Head Students' compartment on the Hogwarts Express. She didn't even remember the carriage ride down to the station.

She couldn't stop her worry from spilling out. "Draco, what if she doesn't like me?"

Draco stared down at her, a frown on his face. "Who?"

"Your mother," Hadara whispered, lips quivering. It was, perhaps, her greatest fear at the moment. She knew Draco loved her and would marry her no matter what . . . but she really, really wanted his mother to like her.

Draco's eyes softened. "Mum's always wanted a daughter, Hadara. She'll love you. I wouldn't be surprised if she comes to love you more than me."

"You're jesting!" she declared. How could a mother ever love someone more than her own child? The mere idea was impossible!

Draco kissed her forehead. "It'll be fine, love. I know that she'll love you. People can't help but fall under your charms. It's not easy to capture the heart of a Malfoy, after all."

She smiled up at him, worries soothed for now. "No, I don't imagine it is." She leaned her head against his shoulder and stared out the window at the passing scenery. Snow covered most everything, making the world seem innocent. She knew differently. She had seen the horrors firsthand, and she never wanted to see them again.

The door to their compartment opened, admitting Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Hermione had been kind to Draco ever since the engagement, likely because it left Ron disillusioned to the belief that Hadara would ever see him as more than a brother. Ron still hated Draco, he left no doubt about that, but he had learned to hold his tongue on the matter. Whenever he started defaming Draco's character, Hadara would lock his tongue to the roof of his mouth and then leave for hours. He would always be her friend, but he needed to open his eyes to reality. There was nothing romantic between them.

"Hadara, you look beautiful," Hermione said. She beamed at them.

"Thank you, Hermione. You look good, too." Hermione had managed to permanently straighten her hair, and it made a noticeable difference.

"Malfoy," Hermione said with a nod of acknowledgement.

Draco nodded in return. "Granger." He glanced at Ron and managed not to sneer; Hadara was impressed. "Weasley."

Ron grunted and plopped down next to the window on the opposite bench. He kept glancing at Hadara from the corner of his eye. She sighed and decided to ignore it. It would just take time for him to accept what was happening.

The train-ride passed in silence. Several hours into it, Draco stretched out along the bench and rested his head in Hadara's lap. She petted his hair as he napped. Ron ground his teeth, but refrained from speaking. She was grateful for that. Today, of all days, she really didn't want to fight. When the whistle sounded, she caressed Draco's cheek. "Draco?"

"Hadara?" he asked, before nuzzling her stomach.

She grinned as butterflies fluttered through her. "Time to wake up."

"Don't want to. Comfortable." He pouted at her.

Hadara laughed. "Sleeping fiancé's don't get kisses," she whispered. He sat up so quickly that it made her neck hurt just watching.

"I'm awake!" he declared. The grin on his face was roguish.

She needed a distraction—anything to take her mind off the fact that she was about to meet Narcissa Malfoy, her future mother. So Hadara leaned forward, a wicked smirk on her face, and whispered, lips brushing against his earlobe, "Later, when we're alone, I'm going to kiss you so deeply that it feels like I'm drawing your heart out through your throat." Draco gasped. "I'm going to kiss you until all you can think about is me." He shivered. "I'm going to kiss you until I literally can't breathe, and then I'm going to faint in your arms." He groaned. "And you're going to carry me to bed, wrap me in your magic, and keep me safe all night." She kissed his cheek as she drew back, teeth grazing his jaw. His pupils were enormous. His hands clenched against her back in fists.

"Dara," he breathed. He shortened her name for the first time, and spoke it with such need that she had to bite her lip to keep her composure.

"What in the world did you say to him?" asked Hermione, mouth flapping open and shut.

Hadara craned her neck to look at her friend and cursed her pale complexion when she felt a blush rise. "Nothing you need to hear," she said resolutely. What she had said was private, and not for public consumption—not even among close friends.

"You're lucky Ron's not here," Hermione said. "He would have pitched a fit at"—she waved her hand between Hadara and Draco—"this."

"It's none of his business," Draco spat before rising to his feet. He offered a hand to Hadara and helped her up after she accepted it. "It's time."

Hadara swallowed. She could do this. "Okay. Okay." She followed him down the corridor, pulling his magic closer to her with each step she took. He didn't complain, merely added more layers to the shields. Finally, they got out of the crowded passageway and stepped onto the platform.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were easy to spot—blond beacons that they were. The area immediately around them was empty. It didn't surprise her. Lucius Malfoy had never struck her as the type of man who would let anyone touch his wife. And, given their position in society, a certain amount of respect was afforded them. The closer she and Draco drew to them, the more nervous and choked up she became. Narcissa wore pale blue robes with silver accents; her hair was perfectly coiffed; she resembled a marble statue of Aphrodite.

When they reached them, Draco stopped and inclined his head. "Father, Mother, may I present my fiancée—Lady Hadara Potter?"

Hadara lifted the hem of her robes and curtseyed. She had been practicing everyday, wanting to get it just right. What was she supposed to do next? Oh, right! She looked down at the ground. A pair of silver slippers (obviously Narcissa's) entered her line of sight. She held her breath as a glove-covered hand reached forward and grasped her chin. The moment contact was made, Hadara froze. A magical thread flared to life in her mind. It was warm and caring; it tasted like family.

Narcissa was a Black. Hadara's grandmother was Dorea Black. She hadn't given much thought to their distant relation before. Now, though, she could feel it—could feel Narcissa. It was brilliant!

Ignoring all the protocol she had studied to make this meeting perfect, Hadara rose from her curtsey and threw her arms around Narcissa. She snuggled her face into Narcissa's neck and sobbed, "Mum!"

"Hadara!"

"Darling!" Draco and Lucius said in unison.

Hadara knew she should care that she was making a scene, but she couldn't. She just couldn't. It finally felt like she had a family—a mother. It was the culmination of a lifetime of childhood dreams. Shaking arms enveloped her, and she smiled through her tears. Narcissa, unsurprisingly, smelled like the narcissus flower. It was a subtle, lovely fragrance.

"I'm here, ma fille," Narcissa said, voice sounding thick with tears. "I'm here." Narcissa stroked her back.

"I missed you," said Hadara. She felt silly after she had spoken, because the words didn't make very much sense. She had never met Narcissa before. The only time she had ever seen her was at the Quidditch World Cup three summers ago.

"I missed you, too." Narcissa hugged her tighter. "I've waited a very long time for you, ma fille. Such a long time."

It took Hadara a while to understand what Narcissa meant, but then she remembered the articles in the _Daily Prophet_ over the summer. None of Voldemort's followers had ever had more than one child after being branded with the Dark Mark. Since Lucius had been Imperiused into accepting it . . . that meant Narcissa would've been unable to bear any daughters. The same monster that had stolen Hadara's mother had stolen Narcissa's future daughters from her.

She was intimately acquainted with the type of hatred and loneliness that engendered.

"Darling, I think now would be a good time to leave," Lucius said. "The reporters are approaching." His voice was the softest that Hadara had ever heard it.

"As you wish, Lucius," Narcissa replied. She didn't loosen her hold on Hadara, though. In fact, she tightened her grip and turned on her heel, taking Hadara back to Malfoy Manor with her.

Hadara gasped and stumbled, eyes closing in bliss. She had never been inside an ancestral manor before. It was _mind-blowing_ , to say the least. "It's like drowning in Draco's magic," she whispered.

"That's an apt way to put it, ma fille, though it feels like Lucius's magic to me," said Narcissa. She lowered her arms and stepped back. "Now, let me look at you." Grinning, eyes wet like Hadara's, Narcissa walked around her. She stopped in front of her and brushed her thumb beneath Hadara's eyes. "If they weren't emerald green, I could almost imagine you were my own daughter."

Hadara beamed at her. She was pretty enough to be Narcissa's daughter! This was so beyond what she had imagined, that she kept wondering if she would wake up to find she had dozed off on the train.

"Don't you agree, Lucius?" asked Narcissa.

 _Lucius?_ When had Lucius and Draco arrived? She couldn't remember hearing them Apparate into the room at all.

Lucius strode forward and cupped her chin, turning her to face him. The smile on his face was gentle, and the first she had ever seen there. "Yes, I do."

Flushing, Hadara averted her eyes. Her gaze landed on a wooden chair; its legs were unicorns rampant, and the back was a foot tall with the constellation Draco carved into it. "This is my room!" she declared ecstatically. She spun around to make sure; the dressing table, loom, and rest of the familiar furnishings from the Room of Requirements were all present. This was the dressing room of the Heiress Malfoy suite.

"How did you know?" Narcissa asked.

"Hmm? Oh! Draco showed it to me at school," she replied as she ran her fingers over the back of the chair. Draco insisted on brushing her hair for her as she sat in it every night.

"And how did you accomplish that?" Lucius asked his son.

"There's a room on the seventh floor that will turn into whatever you desire. I believe I mentioned it before in my letters," Draco replied. Hadara felt his eyes on her the whole time he was speaking.

"You did," Lucius replied. "It's a pity I didn't learn of that while I was at Hogwarts. It sounds imminently useful."

Hadara opened a door; it led to a beautifully appointed bedchamber. The bed was massive, and looked as comfortable as the one in the Head Boy's chambers. She twirled around and asked, "Draco, is this our room?"

Draco choked, paled, and took a step backward. "I . . ." He looked terrified all of a sudden, and she couldn't understand why. It was a perfectly simple question. Was this, or was this not, their bedroom?

" _Draco Lucius Malfoy_ ," Narcissa said, voice bitterly cold, "would you care to explain to me why Lady Hadara is under the impression that you will be sharing a bedchamber?"

Gulping, Draco shook his head.

"That wasn't a request," Narcissa snapped.

"Father—"

"Oh, no. I'm not getting in the middle of this," Lucius interrupted. He winked at Draco, as if proud of him. "You brought this on yourself."

"I'm waiting, Draco," said Narcissa; she started tapping her foot.

Draco paled further.

"I don't understand what the problem is," Hadara said, gaze darting between the three Malfoys. Narcissa looked royally upset, Lucius looked amused and sympathetic, and Draco looked scared to death. What was the big deal?

"The problem, ma fille, is that you think you'll be sharing a room with Draco," Narcissa said. She glanced over at Hadara, worry marring her features.

"Well . . . yes. I don't see how that's a problem." She felt slow, like she was missing something blatantly obvious. But she honestly didn't see what was wrong with sharing a room with Draco. She had slept better last night than she had in months, and she didn't doubt that he felt the same.

"You won't be sharing a room with Draco," Narcissa said.

Hadara flinched backward as if the words had been a blow. They were spoken with such unchangeable faith—the _don't argue with me_ tone that Aunt Petunia always used. "But why?"

And then Narcissa spoke some of Hadara's least favorite words in the world. "Because I said so."

Turning her back on Narcissa, Hadara pretended to study the tapestry on the wall as she battled back tears. Of course Narcissa wasn't really her mother. So why should Narcissa listen to her or give her opinion any credit? It was going to be like living with another Aunt Petunia—only a beautiful and rich one. She fisted her hand over her heart and wished the pain away. It was stupid to feel betrayed by someone she had just met. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!

Maybe if she told Narcissa about why she had to share a room with Draco . . . _Because I said so._ She winced. It wouldn't make any difference.

"That's enough, Mother," Draco said, voice implacable.

"I agree. You'll be returning to your own—"

"No, I won't." The stunned silence behind her made Hadara wonder if Draco had ever interrupted his mother before now.

The sound of Draco's footsteps, she would recognize them anywhere, filled the room. He stopped behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, before nestling his chin on her head. "Yes, Hadara, these are our rooms."

"Draco," Narcissa said warningly.

"Forgive me, love," he whispered before kissing her hair.

"For what?" asked Hadara. He hadn't done anything that she needed to forgive him for. He was so good to her. What could she possibly need to forgive?

Draco said, "She suffers from bond withdrawal at night, Mother." He pressed Hadara against his chest, as if to keep her from fleeing. "I've never heard of anyone suffering this badly from it before. But then, it's not all that surprising considering her past. Unless I'm shielding her at all times now, she can barely function. Other than my bond, the only one she has is to Lady Longbottom, and we all know what shape she's in to fulfill her responsibilities as godmother."

"I . . . I didn't know," Narcissa said brokenly. "I thought—well, you know what I thought."

"In light of this new information, you will, of course, be allowed to stay with Lady Hadara," Lucius said.

Hadara closed her eyes and wished that she could disappear. Now that they knew how broken she was—how fragile she was—why would they want her as part of their family? Ever since Sirius had died, making her brain feel jagged, she had done her best to fake being strong. But each passing month had grown increasingly harder. After the first time Draco brushed her hair, she had felt stronger. But the longer they were apart, the worse she felt. Sometimes it seemed like he was the only thing keeping her safe and sane.

"Thank you," Draco said, as his hands stroked her sides.

"But Draco, I expect you to be a perfect gentleman. Don't disappoint me in this," Narcissa said. "She deserves a _bonding_."

"Believe me, Mother, I know what she deserves. I'd rather die than lose the chance to bond with her," Draco said. Hadara let the words wash over her as she curled her fingers around the pendant he had given her that morning.

Between one blink and the next, Narcissa was standing before Hadara. She cupped her cheek. "I'm sorry, ma fille. I didn't understand."

Hadara forced her lips into a smile. "It's fine."

"No," Narcissa said, shaking her head, "it really isn't. I'm afraid I have the bad habit of jumping to conclusions. As a bonded woman, your comment didn't sound as innocent as it was meant."

Blushing for what felt like the millionth time that day, Hadara averted her eyes. "You don't have to worry, you know. Draco loves me. He wouldn't hurt me. I trust him."

"Yes, ma fille, I know," Narcissa said, chagrinned. "Why don't you rest? We'll have dinner at seven."

Even after all this, even after finding out about her weakness, they still wanted her to stay. She hadn't felt so safe and accepted in her life. "That sounds nice."

"We'll see you then," Narcissa said before leaving the room with Lucius.

"Forgive me?" Draco begged, voice tortured. "I had to make her understand, or she never would've allowed me to stay with you."

"I don't even entirely understand what you said, Draco. Am I broken?" she asked. What was bond withdrawal? Alice Longbottom was her godmother?

"No!" he rushed to assure her. He spun her around and stared down into her eyes. "You aren't broken, love. Your bonds are just a little . . . damaged. Everything will be fine when we bond. I promise," Draco said.

"On Yule?" she asked hopefully. It was less than two weeks away, and she had heard several girls regaling over how they simply must bond on Yule when they finally found the right wizard. She didn't have to worry about that part; she already had the right one. Yule must possess some magical significance, though she didn't know what it was.

"You'll be ready by Yule?" he asked, visibly stunned.

"I'll be ready whenever you want me, Draco," said Hadara. She loved and trusted him. They would be happy together; she could feel that in her bones. That was all she needed to know.

His pupils dilated. "What are you doing tonight?" he croaked.

Hadara laughed. He was so, so—Draco Malfoy. Still. Thank goodness for that. "I think your mum really will kill you if you don't give her at least a week to plan it."

Draco groaned. "Right. At least a week. You're right." He hung his head. "That's forever!"

"Would you like me to cheer you up?" she inquired. She hated that pained look on his face. It made her heart ache.

"How are you going to accomplish that?" asked Draco.

"I thought I would try _this_." As she fulfilled her promise from the train, black dots dancing before her eyes, Hadara thanked her lucky stars that she had made such petty, careless comments about her hair two months ago. If she hadn't . . . well, she wouldn't have been about to faint in the arms of the love of her life, would she?


End file.
